Laid Low
by susieq666
Summary: This was written as a bit of a joke. Could I still make H appealing even if he was in a revolting state? Well, I still love him!


_(This was written as a challenge - could I still make Horatio appealing, even if he was in a far from appealing state… I wrote it for fun, but thought I'd share it. Well, I still love him…)_

LAID LOW

Horatio was sick. He was having a hard job admitting it, since he was never ill. Colds and suchlike - which he rarely got, anyway - were minor inconveniences to be worked through, nothing more. And he had a strong stomach. Gruesome crime scenes, decomposing bodies, had little effect on him now. Still, he had woken that morning knowing he was less than a hundred percent. His body was achy, and he was queasy enough to skip breakfast. At the lab, there were ongoing cases, but nothing new, and nothing that required his immediate attention. He did his usual circuit of the labs and his staff, then retired to his office. He rarely did that either. Admin wasn't his strong point. Fieldwork came first, lab work second, so the plush office they'd included in the lab rebuild got little use. He pulled a pile of papers towards him, switched on the computer and tried to concentrate.

It was hard. His head was swimming, his vision unstable. But he tried, working on routine stuff, answering a call from Calleigh with his usual decisiveness, while he waited for his symptoms to either develop into something, or, hopefully, disappear.

The powers that be had seen fit to include a private bathroom and shower on this office. Undreamt-of luxury, but useful, if a messy day in the field necessitated a change of clothes. By mid-morning he was in there, swallowing paracetamol, and splashing his face with water. In the mirror, his face was white, and he dried it roughly, rubbing a little colour into his cheeks.

His head was beginning to throb and he felt uncomfortably sick. He sat back at his desk and waited for the medication to kick in.

Tom, the ME, called. "Something you should see, H."

His immediate thought was, 'I can't. Leave me alone,' but he said briskly, "I'll be right down."

He headed for the elevators and went down to the morgue. The strong smell of disinfectant, overlying a heavy trace of decomposition, which normally didn't bother him, was today deeply unpleasant. Tom was keen to show him what he had found on opening up a corpse they had had in the day before. Horatio looked, feeling like the newest rookie as he fought rising nausea. It was taking all his concentration, and Tom noticed.

"Are you all right?"

He forced a smile. "I'll do. Bit of a headache."

"Do you want something for it?"

"No, I've taken something. Go on…"

The ME turned doubtfully back to the corpse. "This could wait…"

Horatio took note of the ME's findings and escaped as soon as he could. He barely made it back to his office. He ran the last few steps to the bathroom, flinging the door shut behind him, and was violently sick. He hated it, the loss of control, the realisation that the paracetamol had probably been wasted, the fact that he didn't actually feel any better for it. His eyes and nose were running and there were patches of sweat on his back and under his arms, though at least they hardly showed through the dark blue shirt. He cleaned himself up and crawled back to his chair in the office.

He hurt. His joints ached, his head was splitting, and his stomach cramped. He couldn't focus on the papers or the computer screen, and realised, reluctantly, that he was going to have to admit defeat. And that was perhaps the hardest thing of all for him.

He toughed it out for another hour. No one disturbed him, but by that time he could barely keep out of the bathroom. After the last bout of dry heaving - his stomach was too empty to vomit - he slumped down at the desk and called Eric.

"Are you busy?"

"Nothing that can't wait. Do you want me?"

"Yes. My office…"

Eric was there within minutes. There was no act Horatio could pull that would fool his brother-in-law, and he didn't try. Eric frowned. "Christ, H, you look like shit…"

"I know. Sorry, Eric, but could you drive me home?"

"Of course. What's up?"

"I don't know. Some bug. Can't stop chucking up."

"Come on then."

Horatio picked up his jacket and followed Eric. "Tell the others, will you?"

"I will." He put out a hand to steady his boss.

"Don't. I'm OK."

Eric withdrew his hand and shook his head. "If you say so." Even so, he stayed very close to him as they left the building and walked across the car park. Outside, it was stifling hot and humid. "This weather can't be helping…"

"Storm coming." Out of sight of the lab windows, Horatio leant against the Hummer and lowered his head, murmuring, "Sorry, Eric…"

"Sick?"

"Yep." He tried hard not to retch, but failed. It hurt, and he winced. He felt Eric's strong arm across his shoulders and, this time, didn't protest.

"Are you in pain?" Eric asked softly.

"A bit. Stomach. Chest. Presume it's the amount of puking I've been doing." He raised his head, forced a smile and wiped involuntary tears from his eyes. "Get me home, brother."

He climbed into the passenger seat and lay back with his eyes closed, as Eric drove. He thought that he hadn't felt this ill for a very long time. He was conscious of sweat running down his body, even though the air-conditioning was blasting cold air at him. The urge to vomit wouldn't leave him, and he fought it with everything he had, not wanting to ask Eric to stop, not wanting to be seen brought so low in public. Too proud, Horatio, he told himself. He opened his eyes briefly, and flinched as the combination of light and motion sent a shaft of pain through his head.

He whispered hoarsely, " Eric… Stop…" and pushed the car door open as the car came to a halt. The humid air rushed in, and the temperature inside the vehicle immediately rose.

Eric gripped his arm. "Do you need to get out?"

"I don't know…" His vision was swimming. "Yes…" He swung his legs out of the car and tried to stand. He knew then that he was going to pass out. "Eric…"

He came to on the ground, Eric crouched over him, wetting his face with water from a bottle.

"H…" He heard the worry in the younger man's voice. "My God, you really are ill, aren't you?"

He tried to sit up, and Eric helped him. "Let it go a bit far, that's all," he murmured. "Sorry…"

"I'm going to get you to hospital."

"No. Just home."

"Please, H. I can't leave you alone, like this."

"It's just a bug."

"You just fainted. You don't do things like that. Come on…" He helped him up, and back into the car.

"I'd rather go home." But the protest was weakening.

"Please, H, just let them check you out. If it's not serious, I'll take you straight home. Promise."

"Whatever you say," he murmured, closing his eyes again. All he wanted to do now was lie down. Between feeling sick and feeling faint, it was a struggle even to sit upright.

He had to hand it to Eric. At the hospital, he used his badge and Horatio's rank to bypass queues, and got him straight into a cubicle, with a doctor immediately at his side. If he hadn't been feeling so ill, he'd have been embarrassed.

"What's happened?" the doctor asked, looking at Eric.

"I don't know. He thinks it's 'a bug'. But he can't stop vomiting and he fainted. He doesn't do things like that."

Horatio lay on the bed, eyes closed, and let it wash over him. He felt the doctor examining him, felt a cold stethoscope on his chest, a thermometer probe in his ear, the doctor's warm hands gently pressing and prodding. He reacted only when his stomach was pressed. It hurt, and he gasped.

"You're a bit tender," the doctor said, unnecessarily.

"Very," he muttered. He risked opening his eyes. Everything swam, shattering his fragile equilibrium.

"Well, you're feverish, dehydrated - not surprising. How long have you been suffering?"

"Too long," Eric murmured.

"Not long," he said. "I felt rough, but from mid-morning it's been pretty relentless. I just can't stop throwing up." He tried to raise himself on one elbow. "Which I'm going to do again."

The doctor handed him a bowl. "I doubt you've got anything left."

"I haven't." It didn't stop his aching body from trying.

"We'll stop that… You're going to do yourself some damage if you carry on like that. I think it is 'a bug', as you put it. A virus. You haven't really got the symptoms of poisoning or appendicitis."

"Can you treat it?" Eric asked.

"We can ease the symptoms, though it will probably just have to burn itself out." He turned back to Horatio. "Do you want to stay in?"

"I'd rather go home. No offense."

"None taken. No, you were right to come in. It's a nasty one - you need a bit of help with it. I'll get you some anti-nausea stuff, and I'll put you on a drip for an hour… just to start the rehydration. Then you should manage at home." He looked at Eric. "You're colleagues, obviously…"

"Also friends, and brothers-in-law."

"Good, can you keep him in order? Make him rest?"

"I'm also his boss," Horatio said idly, "so no."

"H… Be sensible…" Eric said softly.

"Yes, do," the doctor added. "I'm going to try to stop you feeling so sick, but you're very unwell. You really shouldn't try to work, at least for a couple of days. Once your temperature's down to normal… then it's up to you."

"Anyway, H, you'll pass it on to everyone else, then we're screwed." Eric had a knack of pitching an argument that would get his boss's agreement.

"You're right. Though I probably already have."

"Probably not," the doctor said, "unless you're sharing food or kissing each other."

Eric chuckled and even Horatio smiled. "Not often."

As the doctor left, Eric said, "We know how you got it then."

"Definitely not. You don't have to stay."

"I think I do." Eric had no intention of leaving him. "No cab's going to want you in this state. Let me just call Calleigh."

He went out, then returned as a nurse was inserting a drip into Horatio's arm. Horatio wanted to protest that this seemed like overkill, but he actually felt too bad to care. He closed his eyes as Eric sat down beside him, and murmured, "Don't get too close. You don't want to catch it."

"Well, I wasn't going to kiss you."

He opened his eyes for a moment. "God, I feel ill…"

"I know. I can see that."

"You don't have to stay here. Go and get a coffee."

"You sure?"

"I don't need my hand held."

Eric smiled. "I'm sure you don't. I'll get that coffee. I'll be back for you in a bit."

Horatio tried to relax. The medication had quelled the nausea a little, and the rehydration was definitely helping. He began to feel a bit of a fraud, even though he now felt too weak to lift his head from the pillow. Stuck with a drip in his arm, he could hardly rebel, and managed to doze instead.

He awoke as a nurse's gentle fingers removed the canula and pressed a cotton ball over the tiny wound at his elbow.

"Hello," she murmured. "Lie still… See how you feel."

"Better," he said firmly. It wasn't entirely true, but he thought he could probably get home without disgracing himself.

"Good." Eric appeared beside him. "Did you know you snore?"

"How would I know that? Anyway, I'm lying on my back…"

"Do you feel well enough to get up?"

"I should think so." But he let Eric help him to his feet. "My God, this is a killer…"

"It must be, to take you out like this… Here, lean on me."

He gave in. He didn't want to - he hated his own frailty - but he wasn't at all certain of staying on his feet otherwise.

"I've spoken to the doc," Eric said, as they walked to the car. "He says rest, drink water and take paracetamol. And these…" He shook a pill bottle, "if you start being sick again." He helped him into the passenger seat. "OK? You're not going to puke in my car, are you?"

"No. Stop fussing me." It was unfair to take it out on Eric, but his weakness embarrassed him. "I feel like a fraud."

"Why on earth would you feel that?"

"I never go sick."

"Good God, man, you can hardly stand up!"

"Yes, but -"

"But nothing, H! Whether you want to 'go sick' or not, you are sick! I just hope you're going to be sensible about it."

"Always sensible, brother."

"Oh yeah?" Eric chuckled. "Actually… brother… it's not a word I'd ever apply to you."

"No?"

"No. Impulsive, brave… well, foolhardy. Not sensible."

"Yeah, well, it would take all the fun out of it."

"Is it still fun?"

"Mostly. Not today. If I ever seem this ill again, just shoot me, will you?"

Eric smiled. Like most strong men, Horatio denied incapacity, and took it very badly, almost as a personal insult. "Give in, H. Just allow yourself to be ill. It happens, even to tough guys like you."

"Can't do much else."

"No, but I know you. You'll feel a bit better tomorrow, and think about coming to work." He glanced at him. "You look like death warmed over. Only place for you is bed."

"I had a girlfriend used to say that. Or something similar."

"Who was that?"

"Never you mind."

Over his boss's protests, about 'hand holding', Eric saw him into his condo.

"I don't need help undressing, you know."

"I know. Just get yourself to bed. I'll get you some water and stuff."

Eric went into the kitchen, noting, as he did, how dark it was getting. Looking out of the window, he was startled by a flash of lightning, and, very shortly, an enormous roll of thunder. The wind was rising too. He filled a jug with water, found a glass and took them to the bedroom. Horatio was in bed.

"End of that hurricane's arrived," Eric observed, as more thunder rolled round the building. Heavy raindrops were hitting the big windows. "You're not going to get much sleep."

"You know? I find it very relaxing, being in bed, when all hell's going on outside."

Eric chuckled. "That's a childhood thing." He picked up an abandoned suit and shirt, and hung them over a chair. "Do you need anything?"

"No, I'll be fine." He glanced at the windows, as the rain increased. "You don't want to drive in this. Find yourself some lunch in the kitchen. Wait for it to ease."

"OK. Thanks."

He did so, smiling but unsurprised at Horatio's eclectic tastes in food. He ate in the kitchen, imagining that food was possibly the last thing someone as sick as Horatio would want to see. When he'd finished and cleared up, the rain was easing.

He went back to the bedroom. "I'm going, boss."

"Can you get my phone? Jacket pocket…"

Eric frowned. "I can. But leave it switched off…" He found the phone and put it on the nightstand. "If you need anything, call us. I'll come by this evening."

"There's no need."

"We're family, H…"

His boss smiled. "OK. Take my keys then. I'm not going anywhere. Hey, Eric… Thank you for today."

"It's nothing, H. You'd do the same for me. Hope you feel better soon." He extracted the keys from the suit jacket and went down to the Hummer.

The rain and wind were strong, but lessening, as he drove to the lab.

Calleigh caught him immediately. "How is he?"

"Not well. Some virus…"

"Not like our boss to go sick."

"He didn't have any option, Cal, believe me. I've never seen him that bad."

"Has a doctor seen him?"

"Yes. Don't worry about him," Eric chuckled. "He's just got to rest for a few days."

"He won't like that."

"He's not complaining at the moment, since he can hardly stand up…"

"Poor man… I hope we don't all catch it though."

"Doc says it's unlikely. Unless you've been kissing him." He could have sworn Calleigh blushed. "You haven't, have you?"

"I have not," she retorted.

"But you'd like to?"

"No. Although half the lab is in love with Horatio… You know that…"

Eric laughed. "I know. Can't see it myself."

"Eric, you adore him, you know you do."

"Maybe. I've never wanted to kiss him," he protested. "But he's family…"

"That's how most people feel about him."

Eric nodded, knowing it was true.


End file.
